


hold me to your heart, not close enough

by thebetterbina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Warnings May Change, because harry is mycrofts soulmate and ofc that changes things, everything is the same but not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebetterbina/pseuds/thebetterbina
Summary: The police had knocked on the Dursley home exactly one week later, taking Harry and Dudley with them.Harry, trembling and little scared as he clutched his rabbit. Dudley, screaming and crying for his parents. He'll never forget the sight of his Aunt Petunia in hysterics, and hearing Uncle Vernon’s booming voice cussing him out for the mistake he was.Harry never had to see the inside of that cupboard ever again.Harry is Mycroft's soulmate, and this goes about as well as anyone would expect.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Harry Potter
Comments: 87
Kudos: 1247





	1. it is such a mysterious place, the land of tears.

**Author's Note:**

> heavy duty beta done by my wife, partner, love of my life [liz ♡](https://twitter.com/lizardayo) and britpicking by the amazing [thansy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zypher_Sigyn/pseuds/Zypher_Sigyn)

* * *

_“But will my soulmate love me?” The little boy asked, stars in his eyes as his mother laughed._

_“Of course my dove!” She cried, kissing his forehead. “They will love you to the stars and back―they will love every lock of hair on your head, every tear you cry. They will love you for your thoughts, for the whispered secrets you’ll tell them. Your soulmate will love you, just as mother Magic intended, and you will love them all the same.”_

―The Wizard’s Whole Soul, from The Tales of Beedle the Bard

* * *

Harry’s had his words memorized ever since he learned how to read them.

He'd touched them constantly, small fingers running over inked skin for comfort when the ache of hunger gnawed and made him dizzy. Went to the words for solace, when Aunt Petunia’s shrieks of him being a _Freak_ became unbearable―it was his own form of relief, knowing her words couldn’t all be true; he couldn’t be a _Freak_ , not when he had his soulmate on his skin just like everyone else.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren’t soulmates. Harry knew because he'd overheard Dudley ask about it once, Aunt Petunia talking about it in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. Meeting your soulmate was a rare thing; some people went their whole lives without ever knowing their intended, but it didn’t stop articles being published about the mystery of it all, how one person could feel so inexplicably _right_ for you.

The more Harry looked at his words, the more he didn't mind the thought of never meeting his soulmate. It didn’t bother him―there was comfort alone in knowing someone out there was meant for him. 

For a little eight-year-old, who’d never known a kind word since he was born, reassurance was enough.

* * *

During the day he would watch Uncle Vernon head off to work, bringing along a screaming Dudley to his daycare. They kept Harry in the house with Aunt Petunia, mostly because they realized it would cost extra to send him with Dudley and Harry wasn’t worth the effort―but Harry liked to think it was because he was quiet. So quiet, he could practically fade out of existence. Harry didn't throw tantrums like Dudley, and he became an extra set of hands to help with the chores. By the time he was eight, Harry was allowed to run errands.

He watches his aunt grumble about shopping, shoving money into his hands with instructions to pick up eggs. The trip didn't bother Harry, the employees knew his face and all he had to do was smile politely and pass on the money.

Nothing bad ever happened in their little town anyways.

The white van that had been following Harry for some meters back said otherwise.

He'd noticed it when he'd rounded the corner, vans like those usually belonged to a company but he couldn't spot a sticker―it was plain white and stuck out sorely, but the adults around him didn’t seem to find it suspicious.

Something in the vehicle felt _wrong_ to Harry, and he liked to think he could trust his instincts considering the number of times he had to rely on it to get away from Dudley. Taking the eggs, he walked quicker this time, hoping to reach the safety of his aunt's and uncle's home by taking a shortcut. 

  
Though only a block away did find himself on a deserted path, ready to cry and silently wondering why he didn’t just ask the vendor to call Aunt Petunia to pick him up. Harry had been busy trying to get away, giving frequent glances back towards the van that was picking up speed and failed to notice the stranger until he ran head-first. Colliding with the figure and stumbling backwards, the bag of eggs falling onto the pavement with a wet crack. 

“Oh my, are you alright there?”

It was through the panic that Harry registered the words, processing each syllable that fell from the man’s lips―he glanced up, jaw a little slack.

_Oh my, are you alright there?_

His soulmate. He’d met his soulmate. He’s memorized the words, he didn’t need them said twice for Harry to cling to the stranger’s leg. Tiny fingers digging into the calf, tears welling in his eyes because he knew, just _knew_ , his soulmate would never hurt him. He managed to say between choked sobs, eyes going blurry, what he hoped were the words also printed on this man’s wrist.

“Please―please _help me_.”

Something like carefully suppressed shock seemed to cross the man’s face, which quickly morphed into alarm before giving way to something more grim when Harry glanced back again―towards the van still idling nearby the two of them. Harry knew all about stranger danger, never taken candy from random people, but no one’s ever prepared him on what to do about strange vehicles following him on his grocery run without his Aunt.

“Alright little one, let’s get you home.” Harry didn’t fight it when he was hoisted up into the man’s arms—ended up clinging desperately like a koala to him―his own small arms around the man’s neck, hiding his face and desperately trying not to burst into full-on sobs because he met his soulmate and he was going to be fine. 

His soulmate rested a comforting hand on his back, patting in intervals and shushing him softly with murmured reassurances. They walked for a while, until the van could no longer be seen―enough that Harry stopped feeling hysterical from the whole situation and timidly glanced up and around just to make sure the van wasn’t following them. 

“It’s alright, they’re gone.” 

Heat filled his cheeks, enough he’d probably turned cherry red in the arms of the man. Still―there was a kind smile on his face, soft. Rather distantly Harry thought his soulmate looked handsome; certainly better than his Uncle and Aunt and definitely better than Dudley. 

“Thank you, for helping me.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a soulmate if I didn’t, would I?” And oh his voice was soft too, low, like the roll of distant thunder, comforting. “Would you like me to put you down?”

Harry nodded, even when he didn’t entirely want to be put down but he also didn’t want to be too much of a bother, he relished the fact they could still hold hands, grasping as tightly as his little fingers could, making it clear he didn’t want to let go. His soulmate chuckled, a rumbly kind of humored sound. “Alright, do you know your way back?”

Harry tugged, leading the way, the Dursley house a couple of minutes walk from where they were. Mycroft, his soulmate introduced himself, _Mycroft_ , Harry repeated to himself in reverence―filled the silence with idle questions, simple things. Harry learned Mycroft was a University student on vacation, and just happened to stop by Surrey. Mycroft Holmes had a family, a mom, dad and a little brother. By the time they reached the little hanging gate of Harry’s Privet Drive house, the fear from before had almost entirely gone.

Harry felt a little unsure when Mycroft walked him up to the house, and began to frown when Mycroft knocked on the door which was followed by Aunt Petunia’s shrill response of _‘Coming!’_. The door swung open, her face almost immediately twisting into a scowl at the sight of Harry. He unconsciously pressed a little closer to Mycroft’s side without knowing. 

“I’m terribly sorry, what trouble has— _he_ gotten into now?” Harry winced at her tone of voice, clearly, she was trying her best not to say _Freak_ at the moment―it didn’t stop him from fearing what she would do later when Uncle Vernon came back.

Mycroft had a strange look on his face, “My apologies Mrs. Potter―Harry was nearly―”

Aunt Petunia cut him off, her face twisting into fury as she spat her next words. “I am not Mrs. Potter, I am Mrs. Dursley, his _aunt_. Now if it’s not important I’ll be taking him.”

“Oh, then perhaps I am at fault then, I was looking for the Potter residence. Perhaps Harry was mistaken, we’ll be leaving―”

“The Potters,” Aunt Petunia scowled. “Are _dead_. I’m taking care of the boy until he turns of age, now let him go before I call the police.” 

Harry hung his head, he hadn’t known how to explain to his soulmate that his parents were gone, and he felt distinctly ashamed he had to let Mycroft go through one of Aunt Petunia’s little fits she had whenever his mum was mentioned. He wondered sadly if his soulmate would ever be able to come see him again, he didn’t think he’d like to meet anyone’s family if they were anything like Aunt Petunia. Softly, he pried his fingers reluctantly out of Mycroft’s hands, which had gone a little tight during the whole encounter. He mumbled a thanks before moving to slide himself through the gap between Aunt Petunia and the door, but the tug on his arm stopped him.

“Harry,” Mycroft’s voice was still soft, a gentle crooning thing. “I promise to write to you.” 

Oh... _Oh_ …

How that made Harry’s heart absolutely _soar._ He smiled, mimicking the grin Mycroft was giving him as much as possible. 

Aunt Petunia roughly tugged him in, shutting the door on his soulmate’s face.

When Uncle Vernon came back, he got the worst caning of his life, sent to bed without dinner and was given a list of chores to start at sunrise with only water for breakfast. Dudley had cackled at his door, munching loudly on his bag of cookies and taunted Harry until Aunt Petunia sent him up.

Surprisingly, none of it was enough to wipe the smile from his face.

* * *

Aunt Petunia made Dudley get the morning letters after that. 

She carefully shredded the ones that came in beautiful envelopes in front of Harry, shrilly telling him he was a freak for making friends with a stranger when all Harry wanted to do was scream that Mycroft was his _soulmate_.

When she tossed them in the bin, he carefully tried to sneak pieces out, saving every little scrap from each torn letter that came. They came weekly at first, but then to Harry’s horror only monthly. Monthly he had to watch his Aunt or Uncle take one specific letter, wave it in his face, only to tear it to bits and throw it away, never giving Harry the right to touch or even look. So without fail the letters did come monthly―

But the words never made it to him. 

* * *

Harry turned nine before he ever saw Mycroft again. He was miserably pulling weeds from Aunt Petunia’s garden when he heard someone call his name. He was sweaty, fingers grimy from the soil, but it didn’t stop the unadulterated look of pure joy that bloomed on his face when he saw Mycroft waving him over, standing by the gate. He stumbled over a little clumsily in Dudley’s baggy clothes as he quickly wiped his hands down on the ratty pants, launching into the man’s arms. He quickly stuck himself to Mycroft, mending the hurt he felt at not getting to read any of the letters he was sent during the year apart.

The warm hand on his back was nothing like the shoves he got from Uncle Vernon or the firm smacks from Aunt Petunia. It was a comforting pat, soothing even as he attempted to smother himself on Mycroft.

“Hello, Harry, happy birthday little dove.”

Harry’s eyes practically sparkled, only after taking note of the other thing Mycroft had balanced a little precariously on one hand while the other still fondly patted Harry’s head.

“How did you know!”

“I wouldn’t be much of a soulmate if I didn’t, would I?” The familiarity of the words said, coupled with a cheeky wink, made Harry smile all the wider. His happiness for the Dursleys being away only multiplied. He knew they wouldn’t be back till late at night, having planned a full day outing and dismissed Harry entirely. “I brought you a cake, it’s chocolate, I was hoping you’d like chocolate.”

Harry nodded, still starry-eyed as Mycroft leaned the cake down for Harry to see. It was store-bought, that much Harry knew because all the homemade cakes he’s seen Aunt Petunia make were always messy―this one was beautiful, perfectly round, with a red ribbon tied around it. There were flowers, much to his amazement, looking soft and white with each petal arranged perfectly. Even the letters on the cake were perfect, evenly spaced and spelling ‘ _Harry Birthday Harry_ ’ in the prettiest cursive he’d ever seen. 

“I don’t think your relatives would like me in, so do you think they’d mind you out, Harry?”

It wasn’t even a question of whether they’d mind, Harry didn’t think he _cared_ what they thought. All he had to consider was the fact Aunt Petunia wouldn’t even notice the half-finished garden―all the other chores he’d finished during the morning. It was just about locking the door behind him and coming back before they did. So he shook his head, quickly rushing in to grab the house keys Uncle Vernon always left on the table and shut the door behind him. Mycroft readily took his smaller hand in his, and Harry marveled at how perfect it all felt.

* * *

The cafe Mycroft took him to was fancy, with soft creme decor highlighted with pretty gold trimmings. They were at a table near the window―the server who passed the menus was a chipper girl who kept shooting glances Mycroft’s way. Harry could read the menu, he was proud of that, but he didn’t understand half of what was on it, so he resorted to scrunching his face up and putting the menu down, more focused on his birthday cake, hoping to get a slice. The server noticed.

“I’m really sorry sir but we don’t allow outside food―”

“One time should be alright, won’t it? It’s the little one’s birthday.” Mycroft smoothly interjected with a smile that turned the girl beet red, nodding along. 

“Of course! Would you like tea to go along with the cake? Our collection of―”

From there Harry zoned out of the conversation, only taking note when Mycroft decided on a simple black tea for both of them. There were other snacks ordered too, but he couldn’t even begin to pronounce the name of most, let alone remember them. Once it was all done, Mycroft’s attention fell back to Harry— and how strange and warm that alone made him feel.

“Why were you out doing the gardening?”

“It’s part of my chores―” At the look Mycroft gave Harry, he hesitated before speaking. “I mean, it’s okay, it’s normal―”

“Harry,” Mycroft’s voice was soft this time, a little chiding. “Birthday boy’s should be out celebrating, not doing house chores.” 

Harry didn’t really know how to reply to that, all he’d known was the droning cycle that made up his life. Not made any better each year, and in fact, getting worse as he grew older. He was still small for his size, smaller than Dudley, but each additional year on his age tacked on another set of things he could do that Aunt Petunia pushed on him. Dudley got presents and cakes for his birthday, Harry got a slice of pizza if he was being good.

The silence after that was a little awkward, but Mycroft busied it by cutting a slice of the chocolate cake he’d brought in for Harry. The slice was a little obscene, definitely too big, but Harry couldn’t complain when his eyes gleamed at the sight of the perfectly layered insides―from the soft spongy cake to the sugary frosting. He was a little hesitant to take a bite, fork in hand, glancing over to Mycroft for reassurance who motioned for him to dig in. The fork went smoothly down, the first burst of cocoa on his tongue sending _stars_ to his taste buds. Harry always thought he’d like chocolate, from the brief taste he got from little chips he could pick out of hardened cookies, nibbling on those like treats. But this, _this_ was entirely different, the sweetness of it had him melting.

Mycroft seems to laugh a little at the reaction, and his smile was something Harry really liked. “You act as if this is your first time tasting chocolate cake.”

The words had Harry forming a frown mid-bite, which in turn made Mycroft frown. “ _Is_ this your first time?” A little sadly Harry nodded, tentatively licking off the remaining chocolate cream as he avoided looking at Mycroft entirely. It wasn’t exactly easy admitting the kind of living conditions the Dursleys put him through. It took a while for Harry to even put together that living under the stairs wasn’t normal itself―but even the mention of taking up the second bedroom in the house had sent Dudley wailing and Harry to his closet without a meal again.

Another silence fell between them as the tea was served, Harry opting for as much sugar as possible with milk. Mycroft, Harry noticed, didn’t take anything with his tea. 

“Harry,” The way his name was said had him shyly looking up. “I want you to be honest with me, okay?”

Harry nodded.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, just nod or shake your head. If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop.”

A shrug.

“Is leaving you alone in the house, something normal?”

A nod.

“Has your aunt or uncle ever laid a hand on you? And it hurt?”

Harry frowned, gripping his fork a tad harder. A gentle palm was laid over his hand. Without him noticing, Mycroft had moved a seat closer. That wrist was where Harry’s words were printed, and he tilted the hand to let Harry run smaller fingers over them. 

“You know what these marks mean, right Harry?” He did, there wasn’t a person in the world who didn’t talk about them. Children all fantasized about meeting their soulmates, and adults bemoaned never meeting theirs. Harry’s spent more than one night in his cold little cupboard just tracing his words over and over. “This means I’ll do whatever is in my power to make sure you’re happy, do you understand that Harry?” 

He felt the tears well before he could wipe them back, the first of his sobs escaping where he was pressed into Mycroft’s shoulders, fisting the fabric of the older man’s shirt―and for the first time Harry cried his heart out—then cried harder when he realized there was no one there to beat him or tell him to shut up.

(Mycroft smelled like smoke, smoke, and heady cologne, it was a little overwhelming―but a scent Harry comes to associate with safety and home.)

* * *

Mycroft, Harry learned, never lies.

That birthday became the best Harry’d ever celebrated. He got to eat his fill of cake that for once didn’t leave him craving more―all before Mycroft had gently whisked him off to stores to get some pretty new clothes and even a stuffed rabbit he’d seen sitting on the shelf from a toy store. Harry enjoyed the time he got to spend with his soulmate, but only became sadder when he saw the sky beginning to get dark; he knew his time was up and he would have to be back before the Dursleys got home.

Harry was relieved when he didn’t see a car at the front porch, it was still dark, enough time for Harry to give Mycroft another hug; he was a little teary by the end of it, so unwilling to part, that he didn’t know what to say when Mycroft promised Harry a loving home within a month.

The kiss Mycroft pressed on his forehead was warm.

When he curled up to sleep in his little cupboard, Harry kept his new clothes hidden away, back to wearing the ratty shirt and jeans from Dudley’s old wardrobe―the rabbit he’d gotten was the only soft, sweet-smelling thing he had out to remember the day by, its little suit and curious eyepatch bringing a smile to his face. Eventually, the bustling of his aunt, uncle and wailing cousin roused him to also keep the rabbit hidden away; too scared to have any of his new treasures taken.

* * *

The police had knocked on the Dursley home exactly one week later, taking Harry and Dudley with them. 

Harry, trembling and little scared as he clutched his rabbit. Dudley, screaming and crying for his parents. He'll never forget the sight of his Aunt Petunia in hysterics, and hearing Uncle Vernon’s booming voice cussing him out for the mistake he was.

Harry never had to see the inside of that cupboard ever again. 

* * *

The lady Harry talks to is named Olivia. She had the kindest smile and softest voice, she smelled like flowers and always brought Harry snacks when he asked nicely. He didn’t see Dudley, or Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon―and Olivia promised he would never have to see any of them ever again. The news brought a smile to his face, immediate relief (no more hunger and pain), but then quickly tumbled into fear as he suddenly realized he didn’t have a house to go back to.

Though, that too was apparently seen to.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Ashford were probably the kindest couple Harry had ever met.

Benjamin Ashford was a big man, burly, frankly a little intimidating―he had more muscle where Uncle Vernon was all pudgy. He had a tuft of hair that was all brown, and even kinder chocolate eyes. He always had a smile on his face and made sure to kneel down to Harry’s height when they were talking. He never spoke too loudly, never once raised his voice when it was just Harry or Mrs. Ashford around. 

Mr. Ashford was a construction worker. He helped to build houses and repair old ones, always bringing back a story Harry would be more than happy to listen to.

Marianne Ashford had worked at the local primary school as a part-time teacher until she decided to stop when Harry came into their home. Her hair was long, flowy chestnut, and her eyes were the kind of blue that reminded Harry of the sky on a sunny, cloudless day. She loved to give Harry hugs, made sure Harry finished his meals and got plenty of snacks, and always pressed kisses to his forehead before bed after a bedtime story.

Harry’s room was a deep maroon red, painted that way the week after the Ashfords had first taken him in. They’d gone on a trip to pick up paint and within the day Harry was gleefully painting the walls of his first room the beautiful color. He got to fluff his own bed, pick new toys, books, clothes―by the end of it he’d cried into their arms, overwhelmed and just thankful, praying it all wasn’t a dream.

Mycroft’s promise came true, by the end of the month Harry had gotten a new, very loving family.

* * *

The next time Harry saw Mycroft, it didn’t take another year―only a couple of months, and Harry even gets to read the weekly letters he sends.

(Turns out Mycroft knew all about the torn and shredded letters, he’d been sending empty, unwritten ones after the first; really only sending them to let Harry know that he was still thinking about him.)

Harry was as joyful as ever to see Mycroft again when he did, bounding into his arms and squeezing just a tad too tightly. He was heavier now, Mycroft noted with a smile, the horrifying skinniness he’d had before which shocked even the doctors was replaced by good meals that gave him a healthier glow. Harry was far too enamored with Mycroft’s presence to let go, tugging the man into the house―he wanted his parents (and really, when had he started seeing the Ashfords as parents?) to meet his soulmate.

“Mr. Holmes! You should have told us you’d be dropping by!”

“I’m terribly sorry, I wrote to Harry, I assumed he’d tell you.” 

Something of a flush crept along Harry’s face, he’d been too excited. 

Mrs. Ashford only laughed, entirely lighthearted, “Well no wonder, he’s been bouncing off the walls these past few days. Please sit, I’ll get some tea.”

Harry fell prey to his curiosity when he asked, “You never told me you know them.”

Mycroft’s smile was more mysterious than it should have been, “Of course, the Ashfords have always been close family friends. They’ve wanted a child for years, and what better perfect child to join their home than my little soulmate?”

* * *

On Harry’s tenth birthday, his birthday present was adoption papers reading his new name as Harry Benjamin Ashford.

* * *

On Harry’s eleventh, a stern lady with sharp eyes and pressed lips arrived to deliver a letter to him.


	2. interlude: grown ups are certainly very strange.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. and Mrs. Holmes both adore Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaddup folks chap 2 is on the way so have a snack in the meantime, also chap 1 has been slightly changed bc eurus doesnt exist in this au. ✌️😔
> 
> beta done by my wife [liz ♡](https://twitter.com/lizardayo)

“Oh my goodness―what a tiny little  _ darling _ !”

Harry grins a little awkwardly as he lets his cheek get tugged on by Mrs. Holmes. She has the most pleased smile on her face, cooing at Harry in a way that makes his face turn red with embarrassment. He glances at Mycroft, wondering what exactly he should be doing but the older man pointedly avoids any eye contact―hiding a chuckle behind his hand. Traitor. 

“Dear, you’re scaring him.” Mr. Holmes is much gentler in demeanour, smiling apologetically for his wife’s behaviour as he pushes a cup of hot chocolate towards Harry. It’s a considerably big, goofy-looking mug, but it’s warm in his hands, and the first sip has the whipped cream covering his entire top lip. Mycroft wipes it off with a napkin even as Harry fusses. 

“Sherlock is about the same age as you, but that boy is probably still frolicking in the field with Victor.” 

“I would rather they  _ not _ meet.” Mycroft adds a little tersely over his cup of tea, which his mother tuts at. Harry thinks he likes seeing this side of Mycroft, domestic, bantering with his two parents, reminding Harry his soulmate is human and not some otherworldly being that came to rescue him. He giggles over his drink. “And I’d rather you,” Mycroft pinches his side, earning a yelp from Harry. “Not encourage my parents.”

“I did not!” Harry protests, though admittedly there’s a part of him that is terribly curious what kind of brother Mycroft has.

“In any case, we’ll have to go soon. Harry needs to be back in time for dinner.” 

“Oh, can’t you just invite Marie and Ben over? It’s been so long since I’ve seen them and we’d like to learn more about Harry―”

“Mummy, I can’t cancel _ plans _ ―”

Over the bickering of the family, Harry takes another sip of the warm hot chocolate, melting at the taste of rich cocoa and cinnamon dancing on his tongue. He likes Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. He wonders if his mum and dad will agree to have family dinners like these. Harry wants to meet Sherlock too.

Mr. Holmes quietly passes a buttered scone his way, and Harry happily takes a bite.


	3. I am who I am and I have the need to be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 finally here bihhhh!!!!!!!!
> 
> beta done by my wife [liz ♡](https://twitter.com/lizardayo)

"I'm sorry―I'm a  _ what _ ."

"A wizard, Mr. Ashford," Professor McGonagall’s face makes a strange twist when she says Harry's last name. "You're most definitely a wizard, just as your … birth mother and father were."

"But I never knew them―I don't even know their names." It's a little despairing for Harry, to have a past he once wanted so desperately to know catch up on him. Marie is a solid presence by his side, holding his hand as Ben braces them both. His parents are more than spooked about this lady who'd introduced herself as an assistant headmistress to a school neither of them had heard of, but that Harry was enrolled into.

They can't say she's lying, not when the tea set in front of them is very clearly floating, drops of sugar gently plopping itself into the tea―the spoon stirring in slow circles as the lady gently lifts the teacup to take a sip from the saucer that's yet to stop floating.

"But I can't be a wizard―I can't―I can't do  _ that _ ."

"Of course not Mr. Ashford, that is what a school is for, but have mysterious things ever happened to you? When you were in great stress, did something unexplainable happen to make your troubles go away?"

Harry thinks, remembering a life back where Dudley used to chase him with his friends and Harry would twist―only to find himself out of their path. He thinks to the times his hair had grown back after Aunt Petunia threw a fit and sliced them off―remembers the last time he ever felt that way was when he'd seen the white van; the same pull and twist about to happen before he'd walked straight into Mycroft.

But it's never happened since he's lived with the Ashford's.

"I mean―it used to happen. But not now, I'm perfectly normal now."

Professor McGonagall seems to tut at that, "Magic is our ‘perfectly normal’ Mr. Ashford, and what we call accidental magic only occurs under specific circumstances."

"Please excuse me for interrupting," Harry watches his mum say first, a worried frown on her face. "But, we aren't even sure about how we'll handle the school fees. You see, a friend of ours already planned for Harry to go to a lovely private school as a gift. This is just so sudden, and we're not terribly wealthy either." She gives Harry such an apologetic look, the news about the private school does come as a surprise―but he's more worried about her distress.

"Rest assured, Harry has inherited a rather sizable education trust vault in his name. And when he comes of age, he will inherit the main family vault. Harry's former parents, the Potters, come from generational wealth. And he is the sole heir."

There's a stunned silence between the family, he watches his mum and dad give each other weary glances. Ben coughs a little awkwardly, Harry can tell they’re going to have a conversation later. 

"And this school, he’ll meet other children like him?” The professor nods, his dad sighs. “This is all so sudden … got any questions for your Professor, son?"

Harry thinks it over, but he’s had it in his mind ever since the assistant headmistresses had mentioned utmost secrecy needing to be upheld. 

"My soulmate," he begins, watching McGonagall's eyebrows raise ever slightly. "Can I tell him about this? My ... magic?"

"I take this to assume your bonded isn't magically capable." Harry shakes his head, he thinks if Mycroft was he'd have known. Professor McGonagall's face goes a little softer, wistful, Harry thinks. "The way Muggles,” The Professor pauses, taking note of their confused faces. “The non-magically able, and the way wizards and witches treat soulmates are very different. We put more weight into soulmates, and they're granted the same privileges as the family would. So yes, you will be able to tell him, provided he swears secrecy like your mother and father."

* * *

Where Marie and Ben were confused at the fact Harry was a budding wizard, Mycroft is more considering.

When Harry asks, very politely, if Mycroft would take a day off to do his first-year school shopping with him―Mycroft agrees immediately.

* * *

“Harry is … special.” The Professor had ended their first encounter with that same hesitancy she’d had when calling Harry’s full name. 

“What could be more special than being a wizard?” Ben had asked, a wonky smile on his face.

“The circumstances of his birth, his birth parents’ death―it will be a lot, but one of these days I’ll ask the headmaster down so we can explain. I understand this news is shocking enough, but there is more we must discuss once Harry is settled. We owe that to Harry, to both of you as well.” The gravity, the sombre way she had said the words caused another frown to cross Ben and Marie’s faces.

“In the meantime, Harry, will you permit me to cast a simple illusion over your scar? You’ll find it has much to do with your history, and I very much doubt you’d want to be accosted on your first trip to Diagon. It will itch for a while, but the spell will dissolve once you reach Hogwarts.”

* * *

Tom the bartender is a genial, cheery man, with a wide beaming smile on his face when Ben confusedly asks where Diagon Alley is. 

“A first-year? Muggle-born? Always get them you see! No problem, I’ll open Diagon up for you. Mum and dad then? Who’s this lad?” The question is without heat. While parents and siblings were allowed passage, the Professor had explained witches and wizards were still cautious who they allowed in their heavily populated areas.

“My soulmate!” Harry chirps happily from beside Mycroft, always a little less shy when it came to his soulmate. Tom’s smile seems to mimic Harry’s, kneeling down a little to get down on Harry’s height and give him a pat on the head.

“Well aren’t you a bottle of Felix? Let me tell you, I’ve been a bartender in the Leaky all my life and I’ve never even met mine! I reckon they’re a Muggle too but really, who’ll run the bar when I’m gone?” His put off sigh makes Harry giggle, and Harry watches Tom slowly get back up before motioning them to the back. 

The red wall he takes them to is unassuming, plain, tall and looming, leading Harry to believe it's just another dead end. Tom rifles through his pockets, muttering something about getting a proper holster, before he takes out a stick―it’s light brown, smooth, and Harry watches Tom wave it in front of them.

“Bricks will only open to wands you see, once the lad is old enough he’ll learn the combination―” Harry looks, with rapt attention, the rhythmic tapping of Tom’s wand against the wall, “―otherwise! I’m always here to help, first stop is Gringotts, right? You wanna head straight down the road, tallest building you’ll see, you can’t miss it.”

The bricks slide, like pieces of a puzzle, folding outwards until an entirely new street opens up right before his eyes―Harry doesn’t contain his excitement, practically buzzing, tugging Mycroft along the busy street already filled to the brim with people bustling about. His parents call after them, but Harry isn’t very bothered about being lost when he has Mycroft nearby. The people on the street all wear robes, long and flowy of different colours―so different to Harry’s clothes, a simple dress-shirt and pants, and to Mycroft’s grey suit. They get some stares because of it, other children pointing at Harry, but they’re quickly dismissed. 

Rows of stores all glitter in golden hues, setting the street alight with a kind of liveliness that London could only match on her good days. Harry catches sight of a couple of boys, all staring wide-eyed in front of a store display, a broom sitting proudly behind the glass.

“They ride brooms! Can you believe that? It’s like a fairytale!” 

“Remember your letter,” Mycroft chides, though still with a warm smile. “First years aren’t allowed brooms,” though he adds with a frown, “―the idea of you flying is worrying enough.” 

Ben and Marie follow some steps behind, Mycroft having to slow Harry more than once to stop him from dashing to look at another display. It all ranged from clothes, books, toys―Harry even caught sight of a pet store awhile back. Then there were stores that boasted about their potions, stores that sold solid gold cauldrons, which all reminded Harry there was something distinctly  _ magical _ about the whole experience. 

Gringotts, just as Tom promised, was not hard to miss―it stood tall and imposing on the street junction, tall enough that Mycroft told Harry structurally it wouldn’t be possible to have in London. Its wonky pillars made the building look close to collapse at any second, with ‘Gringotts Bank’ etched across the stone and two guards standing at the door that were, Professor McGonagall had warned them not to be alarmed, goblins. 

_ “They handle all our gold,”  _ she’d said with a smile. _ “Nothing safer than a goblin bank.” _

She’d given them an idea of what to expect when entering, but it didn’t compare to the actual feeling of it all―the expanse of the hallway that seemed improbable because of the size, the high arched walls, the gold pillars, the expensive marble floor that made it feel like any other bank. Yet instead of where tellers were, behind safety glass were long tables with goblins at the other end―all busy weighing, writing, grumbling. 

“Can I help you?” A low growl of a voice made Harry flinch in shock, he backs up closer to Mycroft who has a much more polite smile.

“This is Harry, we’re here to withdraw money from a vault that’s in his name.”

“Family name?” The goblin asks impatiently, brow arching and foot tapping impatiently.

“Ashford―no, sorry―I believe the Professor told us to say... Potter.”

That gets a different response, the goblin tilts its chin, squinting eyes and eyeing Harry critically. The creature nods, seemingly satisfied before muttering a brusque ‘follow me’ and leading them through the bank. They pass a number of goblin bankers, all busy in their work and handling their own clients, before they’re stopped at an empty teller.

“Griphook, the Potter heir.”

The goblin behind the desk, with stringy grey hair and sharp eyes, looks up from the pen and book, and the smile he gives has more teeth than it should when he speaks in a voice that’s more like a low growl. “Thank you.”

Harry watches their initial guide give a nod, quietly leaving their family with Griphook. 

“Mr. Potter, or Ashford is it? Your wizarding bank and vault will be under the name Potter for the moment. Do you have your key?”

Harry doesn’t, he gives a glance to his parents, Marie rifles through her purse for a moment before finding the object with an ‘ _ aha _ ’―it’s small, golden and gleaming just as the walls of the bank, artfully crafted. It made Harry think of something like a treasure chest key from the stories his parents would tell him before bed. She quietly passes it to the goblin, who inspects it before moving away from the desk. 

“Good, follow me, please. Only Mr. Ashford and one adult, however.”

It’s second nature by this point for Harry to fall on Mycroft, Ben and Marie don’t mind, they know intimately the love soulmates share, being a pair themselves. 

They follow Griphook down the winding hallway, occasionally passing another grumbling goblin, and they’re led deeper into the bank than Harry would’ve expected―Mycroft has to help Harry onto the platform of the trolley, mindful of the gap, and Harry clings a little too tightly onto Mycroft the entire journey through the dark tunnel vaults. Harry thinks he caught a glimpse of white beating wings, a roar somewhere in the distance. When Harry asks if that was a dragon, Griphook replies by chuckling darkly with an ominous 'yes.'

“Vault 687, the Potter vault, come along then.”

The stop nearly throws Harry off-balance, but braced by Mycroft, he gets gently hoisted over to more sturdier ground as Griphook shines the light onto the huge vault. He watches curiously as the goblin inserts the key and twists, a simple enough action but warned a little gravely that only a goblin could get away with doing it. The door opens with a groan to gleaming mounds of gold coins, bright from the light Mycroft shines into the vault as Harry continues to stare―frankly a little stunned, at the piles of glittering coins practically littering the entire area. 

“Remember to use the bag,” Mycroft murmurs from beside Harry, though he looks just as stunned at the sight before them. 

“How much do you think I need?” Harry asks, has to fish out the pouch he’d gotten from the Professor, a belated gift she’d given to him with a soft smile, charmed to never have an end and where Harry would be able to keep any money he needed.

Mycroft gives a considering frown, turning to Griphook to ask, “Would 500 gold coins be enough for a student on their first year?” 

Griphook snorts, “More than enough.” 

* * *

The little bag barely weighs anything even grasped in Harry’s much tinier fingers. Harry talks a mile-a-minute about their little trip―squealing about the dragon he got to see in the vaults while in Ben’s arms, who gives Mycroft a panicked glance that’s only returned with a slight shrug and raise of eyebrows. 

They find their way around the shops, with more helpful notes from strangers willing to point out where they could find the next item on their list. They find his potions kit first (that Mycroft had jokingly said reminded him of a junior science experiment kit), then moved onto books (a quaint little store with a burnt-out clerk that had all his first-year books bound together and prepared) and then onto the flutter of measuring tapes and cloth in his face at Madam Malkin’s. Marie and Ben offered to stay and wait for the robes to be done, with Ben easily managing the heap of their other shopping. 

That just left the wand.

Holly. Pheonix feather. Eleven inches. Beautiful gold sparks.

Mycroft has to practically usher Harry out of the store, telling Harry to never listen to the shop keeper’s ominous words. 

* * *

“Oh, shouldn’t we get an owl?” Harry listens to his mom say, stopping their little family with Harry’s eyes practically glued to the display of creatures. “Harry will need one to send letters and all, remember what the Professor said?” 

Harry doesn’t need a second invitation, he buzzes with enough excitement to let go of Mycroft’s hand to totter inside―listening to the hoots of the curious owls and indignant yowls of cats in their cages. There’s a huge variety of creatures, some not looking like anything you’d see in normal zoos, with dogs and their two tails, and curious snake-like creatures with pretty feathers and trilling voices. 

“Aren’t you just the tiniest darling! A first-year? Looking for an owl?”

The girl appears out of nowhere with an apron covered in fur and feathers, apologizing sheepishly after watching Harry jump out of his skin. Isobel, she introduces herself, a caretaker who more than happily rattles on about each of the breeds to Harry―who has more than one question about their care himself. She answers patiently, looking happy that someone would show an interest in caring for these creatures just as much as she would. 

A bark sounds somewhere in the store, then a hiss and a growl. Isobel sighs, smiling, “Feel free to wander, I’ll be back―just need to sort out a scuffle probably.”

The store is deep, and Harry learns not to take anything at face value when it came to magic―every store he’d gone in seemed bigger than it should be and Eeylops Owl Emporium is no different. There are small breeds, some as cute and tiny to fit in the palm of his hands, some are huge―towering creatures with an imperious air about them that Harry doesn’t think he’d be able to handle. He’d caught sight of a beautiful snowy white owl somewhere, but the creature had been asleep and he didn’t want to disturb. He goes through the rows, glancing back at each watchful eye trailing after him. 

However, a particularly soft trill attracts his attention, he follows the sound to a cage with a cloth over it―and curiously, he gently raises it to see a soft grey owl with curious big eyes hooting at him. It’s a good size, enough Harry thinks the owl would be able to handle letters if he sends him, and not enough to be too heavy for Harry to carry. He puts a finger between the cages, watches the owl tilt its head before jumping closer, nibbling lightly on his finger as he giggles at the tickle.

“That’s wonderful!” Isobel appears in another cheery whirlwind, the screeches from before having died out, “This lovely lady is an Eastern Screech-Owl, I say ‘screech’ but I promise you she’s the most soft-spoken owl I’ve ever met. A good size for her kind, though she tends to have a bit of an attitude with other birds, hence the cover and all. Would you like to meet her?” 

Harry agrees, watching Isobel carefully unlock the cage―only for the owl to rush at Harry who squeezes his eyes shut reflexively, but he only feels the weight of smaller claws on his shoulder, and a beak hooting in his ear. 

“My first time seeing her so eager to meet someone! I think she likes you.” 

* * *

“Have you decided on a name?” Mycroft would ask, a little wary of the bird considering (funnily enough to Harry) how much she tended to screech if it wasn’t Harry handling her. She’s quiet in her cage now, left with snacks, water and a careful cover over the cage that Isobel suggested he keep on just in case for her.

“Eurus.”

“Ah, the  _ East Wind _ . How,” Mycroft’s face twists, listening to Eurus hoot in her cage. “―appropriate.” He says it with so much disdain, but Harry finds it absolutely hilarious. 

* * *

September comes, and Harry cries his little lungs out on the train’s platform. It will be a year before he gets to see them again, and the thought of it hurts more than it should. Still, he promises between sobs to always write, and listens when his mummy tells him to enjoy magic school. Ben is a sobbing mess too, and though Mycroft doesn’t show it Harry knows the ache of distance will feel the same. Still, he tries to be big, hugs them all and boards the big train when the horn sounds. Harry has to stifle more tears, watching their figures become distant flecks from the train compartment. 

He does make friends, Ron is nice, Hermoine is a little snooty, Neville is trying his very best. 

Hogwarts is everything he’d imagined, and more. 

The illusion over his scar fades when he steps on the castle grounds, the cluster of students don’t notice the subtle change.

They do however notice when his name is announced as  _ Harry James Potter _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I post updates about chapters [on my Twitter](https://twitter.com/therealconnor60)! Feel free to drop by and gimme a scream (◕‿◕✿)
> 
> Inspiration for this fic is from the amazing esama that wrote [Whispers in Corners](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134255/chapters/2292768) and [Magnificent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113600), both amazing mycroft/harry fics!


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